


Duas Animas

by hikaie



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaie/pseuds/hikaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duas animas; two souls. Soul and Maka are partners before anything, alike and yet different. Can Soul make Maka a Death Scythe? </p>
<p>[AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duas Animas

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted on FF.Net

     There is a hum in the air, a trickling presence of notes hanging even while others follow them. Sounds running and rushing and crashing together, only to meld into one being at the moment they meet. Maka pads down the hall, her flats making a soft sound in the small hallway, so tiny compared to all the grand walkways of Shibusen's main building. She feels lost, she can't see the light of the ballroom behind her or hear the jittering laughter of nervous weapons and meisters mingling. The sounds ahead of her are much sweeter, though. There is a faint light as she rounds a bend in the hall; not so much a corner as a sloping curve, which is not unusual in the oddly-shaped academy. A double-doored parlor leaks light into the dark hall, as well as a slowly drifting melody. She inches closer and stops in the doorway.

     The pianist has measured movements; she can't see his fingers, but the way he seems to hold perfect posture and yet have his shoulders slump and glide perfectly, the way he holds his elbows... it all gives off this air of confidence and austere. She watches, transfixed, as his fingers come into view- he's got olive-toned skin and short, blunt nails, and his fingers are strangely thick but it doesn't seem to affect his playing. He drags out the final few notes, a deep and off balance end to an airy melody.

     “That was really good.”

     He turns, and she actually notices his messy bleach-white hair. She had been paying such close attention to the music. His eyes are alight, but slowly dying as they widen in surprise. Maka suddenly feels intrusive and idiotic; she's walked in on a personal moment, clearly, but the pianist just looks away from her and clears his throat. “Thanks.”

     “What was the piece?”

     “Hah?”

     “The piece of music you were playing? What was it?”

     “Oh.” He goes quiet for a moment, and a closer look gives away white eyebrows over bright brown eyes. Brown? Maybe something else... “I wrote it.”

     “Oh. I see.” The air is charged with an awkward tension. Maka sways her weight from foot to foot. “Are you here for the meet and greet?”

     “Yeah, but as you can tell I wandered off.” He shoots her a loose grin. “I'm Soul. You?”

     “Oh yes, I'm a weapon!” Maka beams and flushes hotly when he arches an eyebrow. “You meant my name, didn't you?” He nods. “I'm Maka. Maka Albarn.” She holds out her hand to him, still sheepish.

     He takes her hand and shakes it. With other men, they've always shaken her hand firm and quick, if at all. Soul does it languid, loose, like it's the only way he knows how to move. “Nice to meet you Maka.” He grins that wide grin again. “I'm a meister.”

* * *

 

     “I'm nothing special.” She warns him the first time they train together. The desert sun is hot above them, and Maka plucks at her clothing as he cracks his knuckles. 

     “Whatever, show me what you've got.” He stretches his arms out behind him and nods at her.

     Maka goes to that place inside her, the place where she can feel the hummingbird patter of her soul quickening inside her chest. Soul catches her hilt midair and she feels so embarrassed. She's seen the other weapons; always big, always impressive. Even the handguns are more dangerous than she is, all 18 centimeters of her blade cold and precise, symmetrical and more aesthetically pleasing that threatening. The blades she feels the most envy towards- the scythes and swords, the two handed axes and double-edged harbingers of death. She's just a pretty little knife.

     Soul doesn't say anything, at least not in words. Maka feels something she's never felt before, not with any of the teachers or the sparring partners she's had. There is a sound like music, like a heartbeat but set to drumming to a melody that grows louder in her ears and she opens her eyes to the void of her soul. Her body is on fire. There is a heat growing all around her and within her.

     “This is what it feels like?” She asks.

     Soul tightens his fingers around the hilt and Maka squirms as the heat grows. “Soul?”

     “We're resonating.” He says, like it's something she hadn't realized. Then it gets hotter.

     It's the most intense thing she's ever felt, like her soul is being ripped and pulled apart, like something is observing her at her most vulnerable. Intense heat, so hot she breathes open mouthed and uncrosses her arms from her breasts as the sweat forms on her body. Disorientation hits her solidly so she's sitting. Only concentrating hard can make her try and push out the invading force.

     “No, don't.” Soul says, and she makes a sound of discomfort. “Wait for it.”

     It's as if those words were the solution. Everything closes up, her soul feels more open, wider and broader and lighter- and in the background, the sound of a deep pounding over a fluttering beat. Maka stands up in the void, and Soul could only know this through the strength of their resonance. She isn't as happy as she should be; she's just found her meister, the only soul she will ever achieve perfect resonance with. However, unlike with every other resonance she's seen, where the combined powers of both parties produce some amazing weapon, she is still her ordinary 18 centimeter tantō self. The resonance breaks with a dicordant noise and Maka shifts back in front of a confused Soul.

     “We'll work on it.” She says with a faint smile, and gives him a wave as she turns and begins the walk back into Death City. He doesn't say a word.

* * *

 

     “C'mon, let's go right in! We can make you a Death Scythe in the next hour.” He grins. “Next ten minutes if we have it my way.” 

     “Wait, Soul-”

     Maka is boiling in anger as Soul takes a running jump and kicks through the glass of a second story window. As the spray of glass clears, the woman in the bath looks up, startled. There's nothing to hide her very generous endowments, and Maka's meister takes a wet faceplant right between them. The witch blinks, and... grins? Maka pulls herself over the window sill and watches as Soul oggles the bathing witch.

     “YOU DUMBASS!!!” Maka decks him.

     “YeeeEEOW!”

     Blood from his already spewing nose splatters on the tub and the tiles, and Maka berates her Meister as he stares dazedly at the still marveling witch. She reaches out and asks, “Hey, is he okay?”

     “Get UP asshole!” Soul reels back out of the water, dripping wet. His shoes squeal harshly on the floor.

     “Ready?” He swipes the blood out from under his nose only to smear it on the cuff of his jacket in the process. Reaching out, Maka takes his hand and shifts. “Let's just end this.”

     “Amazing, she turned into a knife!” the Witch exclaims. She scrambles out of the tub, and clothes form onto her body.

     Soul swings Maka around, the blade glinting dangerously in the low light of the bathroom. “I'll have your soul, now.”

     “I have got to have a look at that. Give it here, kiddo!”

     “Time to make you a Death Scythe Maka!!” Soul rears back to slash, just as the Witch smiles coyly.

     “No, Soul, wait-!”

     “Pum-pumkin...!”

* * *

 

     “Don't mess up this time! We could have had her the first time but you had to go and be the dumb man you are and jump in on a lady while she was bathing!” 

     “What the hell is that supposed to mean?! How could I even know that?” Soul side steps and narrowly avoids a pumpkin explosion, taking cover behind a stone wall.

     “You know exactly what it means. Call it woman's intuition if you want.”

     “Aw, why are you two fighting with each other while you're fighting me? Maybe little knifey girl there can hang with me and we two girls can settle this lady to lady, huh?”

     “Now hold on just a second, chick. This is _my_ weapon.” Soul spins around to face the witch hovering above them. She grins down at him. “Alright then. I guess I'll just have to kill you for her then.”

     The witch's sleeves spring to life, slithering past Soul and hitting the ground with an explosion that knocks him off his feet. He hits the ground with a curse and has no time to recover as he's lifted into the air by the the witch hat. Maka has a growing feeling of dread of this being their fourth lost battle with the witch when Soul slams into the roof of a building, barely catching himself on the edge as a secondary explosion rocks them.

     “This is useless.” He grunts, barely holding onto the lip of a slowly-dipping gutter. “I can't even get close to her like this.”

     It's like a spike had just been stabbed into their bond; Maka feels incomprehensibly scared. “What?”

     “I can't... Maka, I can't work with you like this. Maybe...”

     “Maybe what?” His fingers are slipping now on the gutter. She doesn't know if he can survive the fall. “Soul? Maybe what!?”

     “Maybe it's better if you actually do go with her.” He squeezes the handle an lets go, and with that motion Maka feels their bond break. She shifts just before she hits the ground, falling amidst a heap of garbage bags and other assorted trash. Above, she watches Soul reach up and pull himself onto the roof, obviously more able without her. He turns to look down at her.

     “Why?” She whispers. “WHY? Why do you men just think you can- that you can just throw women away?” Maka pushes herself off the ground, brushes off her skirt and blows her bangs out of her eyes. “I don't need you.”

     As she turns to face the waiting witch, she hears Soul calling down to her, but she doesn't listen. There's still a nagging fear that this is useless; has a weapon ever made themselves a Death Scythe without a meister? How could a weapon like her do that, anyway?

     “So you're going to be mine, eh?” The witch grins down at her, floating down slowly on her pumpkin. Maka is shaking all over when they're face to face.

     “I left my dad and I can leave you Soul. You're just like him.” Maka says under her breath.

     A hand clasps hers from behind. “Go on then.”

     They get their one hundredth soul. (It's a fluke and she berates him from the back of the motorcycle halfway across Death City.)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so I guess there's a few notes to make! First off, although the anime has it canon to a degree that Maka is part weapon, and part scythe at that, I wanted to take some liberties here. To me Maka wouldn't be a scythe, though I can definitely see her being an elegant one. I'll reveal her full resonance form later but until that point, here's a tanto: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tant%C5%8D. Furthermore, in the scene with Blair, I could have totally swapped what happened canonically, having Maka do what Soul did etc. but being that Maka is a) an 18 cm knife and b) too headstrong for her own good, I had to switch it up a bit. Reviews/crit much appreciated!


End file.
